The Art of Diplomacy
by Hyvamethyst
Summary: When the British prime minister sets out to bring the Ministry of Magic into the folds of Her Majesty's Government, a Hogwarts graduate is recruited to lead the endeavor. Sent back to Hogwarts to win over the next generation of witches and wizards, and with the Ministry, Death Eaters, and the Order of the Phoenix all vying for control, he encounters far more than he bargained for.


[A/N: Thank you for taking interest in this story~

I did a cursory search through the archives, and although I didn't find anything like this, considering the sheer number of HP fan fictions on this site, I'm sure I'm not the first to come up with this idea. Nevertheless, I hope you find this good enough to capture your attention.

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter _and its related material does not belong to me.]

* * *

**Prologue: A New Type of Relationship**

**August, 1993**

He had decided that enough was enough.

He was the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, the leader of a great power and a considerable influence on the world stage. And yet, as he sat at his desk, it was the existence of merely one man and what he represented that was giving him a migraine.

Being informed of a closed and secret society with abilities beyond his comprehension was naturally a source of great concern. But beyond that, it was also a personal issue relating to his authority. On the eve of his first day in office, not only did Cornelius Fudge have the audacity to barge into his residence uninvited, he had also proceeded to treat him like an amateur. At times he wondered how Thatcher reacted to the introduction on her first night.

To make matters worse, only mere weeks ago, the man had appeared again in a dishevelled state, telling him to sit down in his own office and offering him whiskey, before explaining to him the existence of a group of mass-murdering lunatics who specifically targeted non-magical people, the leader of which was somehow only stopped by a child, despite the prolonged efforts of the authorities.

It was at this point that he began questioning the competence of both Fudge and his Ministry of Magic. More importantly, Fudge's revelations exposed what may very well be an erosion of his power as prime minister; here was practically a nation whose populace could do everything from turning teacups into gerbils to mind manipulation, and a significant number of them held hostile intent to his people. Who is to say they were not covertly interfering with his administration? And even though Fudge claimed that the official position of the Ministry of Magic was to live and let live, what if a future leader decided to expand their influence? He wouldn't even know about it, much less be able to react against it.

This concern was exacerbated by the immovable painting in room that announced Fudge's arrival. Not only did it appear to be sentient, it also obviously had the ability to communicate between his office and wherever the Ministry of Magic was. It did not take a genius to figure out that it could be doubling as a listening device. With the newfound knowledge of how vulnerable his position was, the prime minister's worries could hardly be labelled paranoia.

Something had to be done. The members of Britain's magical community were still first and foremost British citizens and subject to the same fundamental laws; Cornelius Fudge was the _Minister_ for Magic of the _Ministry_ of Magic, and so should be brought within the purview of Her Majesty's Government. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

A knock on the door signalled the arrival of the man he was waiting for. Stepping around his table, the prime minister walked across the room to open the door for the Director General of the Security Service.

"James, it's good to see you again! How's work at MI5?" The prime minister had become acquainted with the man during their university years.

"Nice to see you again as well. Things appear to be quieting down recently, but you know how it is with intelligence; nothing's ever as it seems."

The last comment drew a look of amusement from the prime minister. "Well James, I hope you keep that in mind. I have a favour to ask." He closed the door and gestured for the director to follow him to the magical portrait. "Could you take a look at this for me? Is there anything special about it?"

The director eyed him with bemusement before deciding to humour him and leaned forward to examine the painting. After a few moments, he pulled back. "As far as I can tell, it's just an ordinary oil painting. Shouldn't you be asking an art expert about this instead of me?"

"I already did." The prime minister replied. "I got an art historian and the Chancellor of Exchequer to look at it, and neither of them could figure out where it came from and who painted it. In fact, the two of them couldn't even agree on a probable time period. I asked some of the former staff who've worked here in the past and they all say it's been here for as long as they remember." He paused, glancing at the froglike little man depicted. "Try taking it down."

A frown appeared on the director's features, indicating his line of thought and that he was beginning to take the issue seriously, despite not knowing exactly what the sudden cause for concern was. "You mean you can't take it down?"

"Just try." He said simply.

Like during the numerous past attempts, the portrait refused to budge even an inch, no matter how the chief of MI5 pushed, shoved or pulled. The prime minister stood to the side observing him before saying, "A builder, an architect and quite a few carpenters couldn't for the life of them get it to move. They said the only thing they hadn't tried was removing the segment of the wall entirely."

Pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his brow lightly, the director gazed at him for a few seconds before asking, "So what do you want me to do with it?"

Silently beckoning him to follow, the prime minister led the way to the upstairs dining room where a small television set and a VCR sat atop a desk beside the dining table. Locking the door behind him, he switched the machines on and the VCR began playing the tape which had already been inserted in beforehand. The screen flickered before settling on an apparently static image of the painting in the office.

"You're not going to believe me if I just told you about this, so I had a camera record it for a while," He explained, pulling out two chairs and sitting in one of them. "Look closely at the man in the painting, and I do suggest you sit down for this."

The director seemed to hesitate, glancing between the prime minister and the TV before finally sitting down and waited for whatever it was he was being shown to appear.

He didn't have to wait long. With the video being played at several times its normal speed, he initially probably thought it was a flutter of the screen, or a trick of the light. But as his eyes began to slowly widen in astonishment, there was no mistake that he had seen it. The prime minister wordlessly rewound the tape and played it again, this time stopping before certain highlights and playing them at normal speed.

A yawn, a scratch of the nose; the movements of the man in the painting had the director blinking his eyes, as if refusing to believe what he was seeing. But he simply could not deny it when the man walked right out of the frame, leaving only the background canvas behind.

"But…but that was just an oil…" He spluttered, bewilderment visible in his eyes. "This…this is real, right? This is real, untampered footage?"

The prime minister nodded gravely in response. The director swallowed before asking, "How?"

This was the moment; he had done all he could to set the foundation for the explanation that was going to follow. Either he would manage to convince the man, or he would not. The consequences of the latter were unthinkable. Taking a deep breath, he spoke slowly. "What would you say if I told you magic was real?"

The director stared at him for a moment, his features inscrutable. "You mean like pulling rabbits out of hats and making things disappear?"

"Not quite. Do you remember about a decade ago, there was an explosion in London that killed thirteen people and was blamed on a gas leak? And about the same time, there were suddenly a lot of peculiar people out on the streets?"

With that, the prime minister retold everything he could recall from Fudge's explanation, from the wizarding world and the Ministry of Magic to Voldemort, Hogwarts, and Harry Potter. He was meticulous in his descriptions, drawing up every detail available in his mind in an attempt to show this was not a hoax.

Throughout his entire explanation, the director remained silent and expressionless. When he finally finished, the man scrutinized him closely, and he held his gaze steadily. The director was known to have an open mind, but something like this might be too far of a stretch, even for him. After what seemed to be a lengthy amount of time later, the director broke the silence.

"You know, if you hadn't shown me that video, I would think you're crazy. In fact, a part of me probably still does. This," He paused, waving his hand at the TV screen, the froglike man still missing from his portrait. "This is mad. Absolutely bonkers. But what you've said fills a lot of holes in many cases, and it's so far-fetched that I can't see why you'd even want to make it up." Another pause, this one significantly longer than the last. "I think I believe you."

The prime minister quietly let out the breath he had been holding. The first step of his gamble had paid off. "Thank you James. I know how hard this must be to take in, and I really appreciate your willingness to believe me, it means a lot."

The director nodded. "So I take it you want me to do something about them?" No doubt his mind had already analysed their potential to cause harm to the country.

"Not directly. I want you to find a witch or wizard that's living among us, one that lives in our society instead of theirs."

A raised eyebrow made what the director thought of that request clearly evident. "And how would you propose I do that?"

"If there really are plenty of them that eventually chose to live in our society like Fudge said, then at least some of them almost certainly have jobs. Their magic can't just make anything appear, and I don't see someone that can use magic being content with a low level position.

"That means they'd need the requisite knowledge, which isn't something the wizarding world teaches, so they would have to go to college or university. Since that school of theirs, Hogwarts, can't provide the documents they need, the only option left would be forging them. You could look into suspicious or problematic schooling records, teachers and classmates who don't remember the person at all, things like that. What do you think?"

"I think you've been reading too much Tom Clancy. But I understand your line of thought, and I can think of a few things we could try."

The prime minister stood and removed the tape from the VCR. Handing it to the director, he smiled and shook the man's free hand warmly. "You're the only person I'd trust with this, James." Giving him a friendly pat on the back, he headed to the door. "It's getting late. You'd better go home and try to get some sleep. I know your mind is probably still full of everything related to magic; it was like that for me when I first found out."

Just as the director was about to leave the room, he stopped him. "Oh, and James, I'm sure I don't need to tell you how secret this needs to be. I'll leave it at your discretion on who you'll involve, but there'll be no need to inform the Home Secretary or the Joint Intelligence Committee."

With a quiet nod, the director stepped out into the hallway and vanished down the stairs. The prime minister stood for a moment before heading to his residence. The first step had gone as smoothly as he could have wanted. With a bit of luck, perhaps the second one would as well.

* * *

**June, 1994**

"As we all know, the aftermath of the Gulf War has implications far beyond what we are seeing today. For the moment, I'd like to focus on America's reinforcement of its sphere of influence in the region, as well as the—"

Vincent Wolfe tuned out the words of the lecturer after that sentence. He had attended more than enough lectures where the analysis focused on the United States and its allies, and he doubted this one would provide any insights beyond what he had already garnered from the numerous papers about the subject.

Deciding not to let the class be a complete waste of time, Vincent took out another notebook and began to work on finishing his draft essay. With the term nearing its end, he would need to pull a few long nights if he wanted it presentable, in his opinion, on time.

Engrossed in his work, he did not notice the men enter, and neither did he sense anything out of the ordinary when the lecturer fell silent. It was only until a shadow appeared over his notes did he look up.

The first thing he noticed was the two men dressed in black suits standing before him. The second was that the entire room had gone silent, quite an uncommon occurrence, and that everyone was staring in his direction.

One of the men spoke. "Mr. Vincent Wolfe?"

Vincent nodded, wondering what on Earth this could be about. From their attire and posture, he would hazard a guess that these men worked in the security business, and the fact that they had come directly to find him, interrupting a lecture in the process, indicated the possible seriousness of the matter. The worst he could think of would be someone discovering his records were falsified, but that hardly warranted this kind of urgency.

The man held out an identification card. Vincent recognised it immediately; the three green cinquefoils and six red roses were unmistakable. "Security Service. Could you come with us please? We'd like to have a word."

The whispers and murmurs started instantly. Despite the ever increasing worry, it irked him that this was spoken in public in front of his peers. Couldn't they have been more subtle? Now everyone was going to think he was a terrorist or something similar.

"Sure." He replied before packing has bag, ignoring the looks he was getting and standing to follow the two men. He noted that one of them positioned himself behind him, with the other leading the way. As if they expect me to attack, he thought idly.

As they stepped outside, Vincent saw a black sedan waiting for them; its dark tinted windows seemed oddly foreboding now that he was going to be riding on the other side of them. The man at the front opened the door for him, and he climbed in, followed by the one behind him. Once inside, he saw both front seats were already occupied. The first agent then walked around the vehicle and entered from the other side, sandwiching Vincent in the middle.

After a few minutes of riding in silence, Vincent decided to break the uncomfortable silence. However, just as he was about to open his mouth, he felt hands suddenly clasp firmly down on his arms. He gave a yelp of surprise as the agents beside him pushed him into the leather seat, and the one in the front turned around to reach him.

It had happened too quickly, and with his seatbelt on, his arms pinned and his legs without enough room to do anything useful, he could only struggle helplessly as the man jabbed a needle in his neck. He could feel the cold fluid flowing in his veins and spreading through his body. Vincent did all he could to fight against the sudden onset of drowsiness, even though he knew it was hopeless, and even as his limbs began to feel increasingly leaden. Inevitably, his grasp on his consciousness began to slip, and his mind descended into darkness.

* * *

When Vincent finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by a blurry mess of a world. Sitting up slowly, and feeling no hint of dizziness, he rubbed his eyes before blinking them repeatedly, adjusting to the bright light of the room. After his vision managed to focus normally, he surveyed his surroundings.

He was still wearing his normal clothing and sitting on what seemed to be a hospital bed in a small, featureless room. There was a desk and a chair beside his bed, along with a clear jug of water and a glass, lights embedded in the ceiling, and on the wall to his left, a large mirror stretching across most of the wall. A one-way mirror, his mind told him, meaning this was an interrogation room.

Before he could do anything further, a segment of the wall swung open, revealing the location of the door, and someone stepped inside. The person smiled upon seeing him. "Glad to see you are awake, Mr. Wolfe."

Vincent's brain struggled to identify the person. He had a vague impression, a feeling that he should recognise this man, but at the moment he was drawing up blank. The man sat down in the chair and laid his hands flat on the desk, an act Vincent knew was to appear reassuring, or as much as possible under the circumstances.

His visitor waited patiently, still smiling warmly, apparently hoping he would speak first. Vincent made no move to comply, simply returning his gaze while maintaining a neutral expression.

The man eventually spoke up. "I'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind."

Vincent opened his mouth to reply, and for the first time realised how parched his throat was. Closing his mouth, he swallowed in an attempt to moisten his throat somewhat. His interrogator poured some water into the glass on the desk and pushed it in his direction. Vincent ignored it and tried again to speak. "I'd like to have a lawyer present first."

The smile on the other person's face didn't change. "I'm afraid we can't do that. You see, there are different rules when it comes to wizards."

From an outsider's perspective, the words barely elicited any possible expected response from Vincent. For the purposes of an interrogation however, his reaction was telling enough. With his brain still sluggish from the sedative-induced sleep, it took slightly longer than usual to process the implications and for the command 'stall for time' to be issued to his mouth.

"I beg your pardon?"

While he remained composed outwardly, he was well aware that he was in deep trouble. The interrogator obviously would have picked up on his pause, and the band on his wrist was no doubt sending his heart rate to a monitor where the momentary increase would be an even clearer indicator. Trying, and somewhat failing, to calm himself, he wondered how he could get out of this mess. There was no point in trying to figure out how they found out right now.

"We know you're a wizard Mr. Wolfe."

"Uh, don't take this the wrong way, but is this some sort of joke?" Admittedly that was not the smartest thing he could have said, but it was along the lines of what a normal person might say in such a situation.

Just then, the hidden door opened again, and Vincent's gaze shifted to the newcomer. His eyes widened as the prime minister strode briskly into the room.

"James! This is hardly necessary!" The prime minister barked at the interrogator. He then walked over to Vincent, unwrapped the pulse monitor from his wrist and looked him over.

"Are you all right? You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine." Vincent replied softly. He was still rather surprised at what was happening, and at a loss on what to do.

The prime minister then proceeded to lead him out of the interrogation room and through empty hallways to a sizable and finely furnished office. Closing the door, he motioned over to one of the sofa chairs. "Please, have a seat."

Vincent took the offer and sat down, watching as the prime minister poured two cups of tea. He wondered if he was in MI5's headquarters. Did they have interrogation rooms in the same building as the offices?

Sitting himself on a chair opposite to Vincent, the prime minister passed one cup to him before taking a sip out of his own. At this Vincent sampled his cup of tea as well. He was, after all, still thirsty. It wasn't the oriental style he preferred, but it was quite clearly high quality.

"First of all, I must apologise for what happened earlier. The agents were only told to bring you in and to exercise caution, and I didn't authorise them to search you or interrogate you." The prime minister's voice was sincere.

Vincent did not believe that for a second. If they knew he was a wizard, then the agents were almost certainly told to restrain and search him, even if they didn't know why. He was glad he kept his wand at home nowadays; who knows what they might have done with it if they had found it on him. Additionally, the prime minister's probably faked outburst revealed to him the identity of his interrogator, the Director General of MI5. It was no secret that the two were close. The interrogation was to confirm they had the right man before the prime minister himself got involved.

Nevertheless, he let the lie slide. The nervousness that accompanied suddenly meeting the head of government had faded, as had the drowsiness, and Vincent decided now was as good a time as any to determine just how much he had learnt in the past years. Shaking his head and smiling lightly, he assured the prime minister it was all right, and that there were no hard feelings.

"Well Mr. Wolfe, you're probably curious about how we know you're a wizard, correct?"

At this Vincent contemplated his options. He could continue stubbornly denying knowing anything about magic; he doubted they had any solid evidence to trap him with. On the other hand, he could voluntarily breach the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and admit to being a wizard. Violating the statute, he had discovered on a previous occasion, had no substantial consequences, especially for an expatriate like himself, and it would give him the chance to reveal how MI5 uncovered his identity, as well as discover exactly what it was the prime minister wanted. He did not imagine it would be anything sinister; he would not be sitting here sipping tea and having a friendly chat with the man if it were.

Making what was possibly the most impulsive decision of his life, he nodded in reply to the prime minister's question.

"I actually know about magic. Every past prime minister does. We are informed of it by the Minister for Magic when we first come into office. Usually the relationship is one of non-interference, and there is no more communication between either side. However, I feel that recent developments in the wizarding world are rather troubling, to say the least."

That was an understatement, Vincent thought. Although he had not set foot in a magical establishment since graduation, he did keep up to date with wizarding affairs. Every year for the past three years, disturbing events had occurred in escalating levels of gravity.

The prime minister continued. "I want to know more about this mystical world of yours. So for most of the past year, MI5 has been searching for witches and wizards living amongst us."

"How did MI5 find me, sir?" Vincent had a hunch, but he was still eager to know exactly what gave him away.

There was a trace of smugness in the prime minister's voice when he replied. "The records you submitted to the university were not as foolproof as you think Mr. Wolfe. MI5 followed that lead and interviewed your supposed high school teachers and classmates. None of them have the faintest recollection of you. There were also records of a few strange incidents when you were young at your local police office."

Vincent mentally groaned upon hearing that. He had initially worried about those, but there was nothing he could have done. If that was all they knew though, then MI5 had a lot of luck on their side when his profile flagged their attention. Perhaps there was something he was not being told.

"I'm told you are studying for a degree in international relations. Why would a wizard want to pursue such a mundane career path?" The prime minister suddenly asked.

He hesitated for a while before answering. It would not do to express any sort of political affiliation or ideological belief at this point. "I suppose it's an inherent interest in the affairs of the world, sir. We don't get any normal news in the magical world, and every year when I go home during the holidays, it's always fascinating to see how much the world has changed. Especially the year the Gulf War happened. The magical world, in comparison, barely changes through the decades, and every country's community tends to keep to themselves, unless there are any international events."

"Yes, it's amazing how fast things can change isn't it." The prime minister nodded in agreement. "After the agents searched you—again, I apologise for that—they showed me the paper you were working on. I must say, it's quite impressive. 'The influence of combat results during the Gulf War on Chinese military doctrine and subsequent effects on future Chinese foreign policy.' You seem rather adept at long-term thinking."

"Thank you, sir. The idea came to me during a discussion with a friend, so I can't take all the credit, and I'm still in the middle of revising it." He replied bashfully. It's not every day that your work is praised by the prime minister.

"I gave it to one of my China analysts to look at. He disagrees with your conclusion."

"Predicting the future isn't exactly a sure science, sir." Vincent allowed with a slight shrug.

The prime minister laughed. It seemed he had caught on the implication of his words immediately. Well, he was a veteran politician after all.

"I think it's time I tell you why I wanted to meet you. I am setting up a department to manage magical affairs. The lack of communication between the Ministry of Magic and us is proving problematic when events that affect both of us occur. In addition, from what I understand, there are certain elements in the Ministry and society that are extremely conservative, if you get what I mean."

Vincent understood perfectly. If the prime minister knew that much about the wizarding world, then it was only natural that he would be concerned. But to try and do something about it, that would be a monumental task.

"I have no desire to usurp the authority of the Ministry of Magic, and I completely support maintaining the secrecy of the magical world. That being said, I'd like to gradually integrate the Ministry into our system and bring it to our standards, so we can assist each other in mutually beneficial endeavours."

In all honesty, Vincent didn't think that was a bad idea. The regulations of the wizarding world were woefully inadequate and out of date compared to modern society, but the prime minister's plan would bring about an overhaul of the wizarding legal system, something Vincent considered was long overdue.

At the same time, although he didn't know how much authority the prime minister desired to have over the Ministry of Magic, it would never be a significant amount, simply due to the necessity of keeping the existence of magic a secret. There were obviously far more details that would need to be considered, but those could be dealt with along the way when an actual plan of action was in place.

"Of course, for this to work, the department would need to consist of capable witches and wizards, which is why I'd like you to be part of this new department."

Although he had speculated this would be the prime minister's intention, Vincent had refrained from actually believing it himself. He was just a student, only finishing his third year of university, and he was being offered a chance to play a part in this daring undertaking? He wondered what his role would be. "If I may ask sir, how many people does this new department have? And what would I be doing?"

"Well, if you say yes, then we will have one person." The prime minister grinned amusedly at the expression that appeared on Vincent's face. "I was hoping you have contacts that you could convince to join us."

He actually did. Perhaps in part due to his influence, his grade had the most students choosing to pursue careers outside the magical world after graduating from Hogwarts in recent years. "There are some friends I could talk to, but I don't know whether or not they'll be willing to be a part of this."

The prime minister smiled again, his eyes twinkling. "We'll be sure to provide the necessary incentives. So I take it you accept the offer then?"

Mulling it over for a moment, Vincent realised this was an opportunity too good to let pass. Where did he expect his future career path to go when he chose to study international relations? Certainly not a journalist or a consultant. He wanted to be an analyst, or maybe even a diplomat; he wanted to scrutinise reams of information and unveil the intentions of others, to feel the thrill of engaging in a battle of minds, and to be part of the decision making process. And this offer may allow him to attain that goal just a little faster.

"Yes, I accept." He didn't really mind that the prime minister could be capitalising on his desires if he was going benefit from this as well.

The man's smile widened and he reached over to shake Vincent's hand. "Wonderful! I'll get the secretary to arrange the documents you need and return your belongings to you." He stood up and glimpsed at the mantel clock. "Feel free to use the phone to call your friends; I'm sure they're worried about you after what happened earlier."

Vincent hadn't realised how late in the evening it was already. As the prime minister left the room, Vincent walked over to the phone on the desk. Holding the receiver to his ear for a few seconds, he eventually dialed a number. A few rings later someone picked up.

"Hello?"

"Saya? It's me, Vincent."

"Vincent! What's going on? There's a rumour going around that you were arrested, and I couldn't find you at all this afternoon!"

He sighed. Why did rumours have to spread so fast? "No, it's nothing like that, they just wanted to have a word. Listen; could you do me a favour?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Could you go to my place and find Yǐng for me please? I'm not going to get home anytime soon and she's probably run out by herself to look for food again."

There was a short pause on the other side of the line before she replied. "Yeah, sure, I'll go find her. I'll see you later then?"

"Yeah, see you later." He dropped the receiver back in its cradle.

Yǐng was a jet black Bombay cat he had gotten as a kitten during his time at Hogwarts. Vincent wasn't sure whether or not there was anything magical about her, but one of her good traits was that she never leaves the house without permission.

* * *

Stepping into the room next door from the one he had just departed, the prime minister found the director of MI5 sitting at a desk with a pair of headphones on.

"So what do you think James?"

Taking off his headphones, the director pondered the question for a moment before responding. "I can't really tell that much, but from what I saw he seems quite able for his age. A bit paranoid, but that could be from trust issues or from hiding his magic, I can't be sure. Looking at his profile, he might be a little left-wing, but it's no problem. What about you?"

"He's smart, no doubt about it. I don't think he believed all that much of what I said. Did you read his paper?"

"I did, and I know you didn't show it to anyone. You were testing him."

A chuckle. "There's no fooling you James. I think he did fairly well; the kid knows how to make a point and when. Be sure to give that paper to someone at MI6, I want to know what they think about it."

"So what do you plan on having him doing? Be the messenger between you and the Minister for Magic?" The director leaned back in his chair and relaxed. The ordeal had been rather stressful, and they had pulled off the riskiest part without a hitch.

"Actually I was thinking of letting him lead the department." The prime minister replied nonchalantly.

The director sat up instantly. "What? But he doesn't have any experience at all! He hasn't even gotten his degree yet!"

"He's also most likely the only person we're going to find with that much knowledge in this area." He replied patiently. "Besides, he's young and eager; he'll learn quickly and _we_ will be the ones to teach him. And from what I've seen, he'll be good enough to handle Fudge in no time."

Catching on the emphasis, the director seemed to withdraw his objection somewhat. He still did not entirely approve though. "Even if he is easier to mold, I still think someone more capable and experienced would be a better choice."

Knowing he was not likely to relinquish his point, the prime minister offered a compromise. "How about this; we evaluate his performance and how much he improves for a year, and if we can't find anyone better in that time frame, he'll take the job. In the meantime, you and I will oversee the department's operations."

Eventually after some persuading, the director agreed to his terms, albeit grudgingly. Bidding the prime minister a good evening, he left to attend to other affairs.

Looking out the windows, the prime minister gazed at the darkening sky, the horizon still a bright red.

Vincent Wolfe. From the outside, there was nothing remarkable about him, nothing that made him stand out; short black hair, storm grey eyes and a wiry build, dressed in a button-up shirt and jeans. He looked just the same as any other college student. Yet beneath his shell of normalcy, he possessed something truly extraordinary.

He held the key to ensuring his legacy as one of the greatest prime ministers Great Britain had ever seen.

* * *

[A/N: First of all, I must apologize for the distinct lack of British-ness in my writing. I've never met or spoken to a British person in my life, and trying to portray that would end up with something hopelessly stereotypical, so I opted not to. In addition, I learned American English despite having never set foot in United States territory before, so I might end up accidentally using AmE spelling, although I try my best not to.

Secondly, I apologize to MI5 for butchering them like that...

In any case, I hope this was somewhat believable, even if it is a bit of a stretch of the imagination. Thank you again to anyone who has read this, I welcome reviews and constructive criticism will be duly noted, as will any inaccuracies anybody points out]


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